As the ripples of the holy Ganges kissed my feet, I saw each drop sparkle in the sunlight. Letting my eyes reach as far as they could, land wasn’t visible on the other side as if the river’s expanse was beyond infinity. There is something so magical and mystical about nature: The more you approach her, the more she whispers to you! Despite the blot of urbanisation and dangerous levels of environmental exploitation, some vestiges of nature’s bounties are still pristine.
The residents of the area told us that heavy rain and storm in the past two days had left the river in an overflowing condition with lot of mud and silt. Despite the cautious warning, my grandmother, my mother and my sister turned a deaf ear. First, they put their feet in water, then they tried to splash water on each other and in no time we all were taking ‘dupkis’ in the ‘not-so-clean’ river. My grandma proudly proclaimed that Ganga Mata is the mother of all rivers, so she can’t harm us! My grandfather watched the three generations rejoice just by seeing each other's wet faces!
Before I continue elaborating on our adventures, I must also write a little about the place we went to. Garhmukteshwar means Mukhteshwar Mahadev’s (Lord Shiva) Garh(abode). Like most of the towns that grew on the banks of Ganges, this place also had a temple, clock tower and a ghat where people came for ‘snana’! Delving a little into the history, I found that this small town had 80 sati pillars where widows burnt themselves alive in mourning of their husband’s death. Now, a part of the ghat has been set aside for cremation ceremonies.
We decided to take a steam boat trip till the Brijghat, the sole ghat in Garhmukteshwar. The ‘steamer’, as it was famously called, was eventually a raft with an attached motor; another live example of India’s esprit of Jugaad. As we settled ourselves on the steamer, we got talking about the gentry of the town. Mostly agrarian in nature, they said that many people have begun to travel up and down to the city for work.
The boat gradually moved with the flow of the river, dropping us at the ghatafter a joyful ride. Here, we had the old-is-gold version of ice cream called Rabri which is served on leaves of the peepal tree. We were licking our leaf-plates clean while my grandfather described his escapades with his friends on the banks of Ganges. The market near the ghat was something that delighted my sister to the hilt. Surprisingly, there wasn't something exotic except the handmade baskets and Chinese toys yet a shopaholic like her couldn't resist. I tagged along with her and ended up buying something too;that infectious she is!
My grandparents wished to give food to twenty-one handicapped people sitting on the ghat, something their parents also did. We offered them food with our own hands. Alert: I had mixed feelings! On one hand, I felt good that we were saving their expenditure of a meal but on the other hand, I felt that I was encouraging the perpetuation of poverty by handing out doles to them. I have a reason to feel so. One of the ladies who I was offering a plate to plodded her daughter to take a plate too. Her daughter caressed her stomach and said, "I m full!". The mother looked at her with glaring eyes and pinched her. The girl stretched her hands out and asked me for a plate. It seems that thousands of people like us consider this a good deed of offering food to the needy, but it may also mean that they have no incentive to work, earn and then spend! The next minute I thought that probably the mother was trying to collect food for the meal in the night. I was reminded of the poem by John Keats who said that seeing poor people, he felt like killing them so that they don’t have to suffer so much. How cruel can such a thought be! Maybe someday I would be able to answer these contradicting questions hopping in my mind!
Heavy with thoughts, we left soon after with sweet memories in our minds and hearts. A trip we planned to spend time with our grandparents turned out to be more than just that! Every time I witness the beauty of the Ganges, I am forced to believe in Swami Vivekananda's praise for her purity: I wish my bones to become corals in the Ganges.
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